


Sheets of Empty Canvas

by Ashbear



Series: Castles in the Sky [3]
Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, One-Shot, Romance, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashbear/pseuds/Ashbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love story in reverse (...just not theirs.) It started with a book; it ended with tradition. Before the story, there was <i>their story</i> - Julia, Laguna, and the "Castle in the Sky" that was destined to remain rooted firmly in the earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sheets of Empty Canvas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bebedora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bebedora/gifts).



> **Foreword:** Well, here I go again. Promise, it's just a one-shot, standalone this time. I've tried to experiment with style and characters, going far beyond my norm. For those who ever wondered about the book “Castles in the Sky” this gives a little insight and a history. Call it a story, within a story.

A Love Story in Reverse  
( _…Just Not Theirs_ )

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

****

**Once upon a time, there lived a princess.  
She was born into wealth, but her father, the king, convinced her to dream of more.**

****

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

He didn't know it was possible, or maybe he'd simply overlooked it all these years, but her eyes lit up when she smiled. His eyes were transfixed. He didn't even know that his head tilted as he watched her but, in that second, his mind had become an empty slate… He doubted that he could manage his name without stuttering. This woman, a virtual stranger, had taken him into her home and taken care of him, yet he knew nothing of her, except that she was a good, decent, and caring person.

And yet, that's all he needed to know.

He didn't notice the blush that slowly covered his face. She did. Since she'd been playing nursemaid - _this_ had been the most color the stranger had. She couldn't say why she felt _this_ attached. It was more than taking care of him. In her heart, she knew that this man was important, but she couldn't say how this particular puzzle piece fit yet. It may have sounded silly, but this stranger had been part of her life before she ever saw him. The night he'd washed ashore, she'd never forget - a squall had come through and it rained so hard that she couldn't see her hand in front of her face.

...But, somehow, through the darkness and against all odds, they found their way to each other.

As Laguna finally managed to sit upright, his face reddened from embarrassment. He _knew_. When their eyes first met, he saw fields of flowers and the warmth of the sun. He'd traveled the world, he'd seen beauty, but in that instance, he _felt i_ ts beauty. It was within her. Sappy, he knew, but he simply didn't care. He was the eternal romantic, the type who turned to the end of a story to make sure there was a happy ending. That's why his heart already knew the answer; the question had only to be asked. He inwardly cringed, his hidden penchant for romance novels had finally come in handy. Most men would simply think that the moment was special. Not him. He thought the moment was one in a million – shooting stars and forbidden magic.

All his life he'd been a hopeless romantic, but in this moment, he wasn't hopeless anymore.

Time would pass, but he thought of Julia. He wondered how she fared. He'd never heard from her after that night. She said she'd write, but the Galbadian government didn't make non-essential correspondence a priority or maybe she'd simply forgot; she wouldn't be the first and far from the last. Yet there would always be a part of his heart reserved just for her. He still believed in serendipity – their lives had been destined to cross paths. In a word torn apart by war, Julia represented hope and, even more importantly, she made him feel wanted. One memory that he'd hold above all others wasn't when they talked until all hours of the night; it was they read to that little girl…her name escaped him. Laguna had always loved fairytales - a world of princesses and knights, of castles and dragons, a place where magic was performed by wise old men rather than power-hungry sorceresses. He hoped to have several children to read stories too. His parents hadn't been there for him; he vowed to make up for their mistakes. He'd be there for his kids. He'd read to them too, even the book that girl had...name of it also escaped him.

Because he liked that story; he liked the memories he had of it.

But children were down the road…he had a tendency to get ahead of himself – _far ahead_. Maybe before he planned forever, he should learn her name.

The words of the book held true… Laguna had made a lot of mistakes in life, too many to count. He promised himself that when this war with Esthar was over, he'd made his last mistake. He wouldn't be too blind to see the truth. There was no doubt – what his heart wanted, _needed_ , was standing in front of him. His search was over; he didn't have to return to Deling, because when he looked into those eyes – he had found his home.

"Laguna," he rasped, his voice strained and hoarse.

She smiled. "Raine."

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

****

**So she chased the idea of more, her father called it her castles in the sky.  
She never questioned the word of the king; because a Lady, a Princess, never did.**

****

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**  


_Dear Laguna,_

_I don't know if this letter will reach you, but I'll send this either way. There are so many words in my heart and I want you to know all of them._

_It's hard to put these thoughts in words, but I'll try. In m_ _y everyday life, when I'm not on stage, there are moments of sadness that suffocate me. Up there, in the lights, I am someone different. I am_ _**somebody** _ _. That's why I like performing. When I was young, I danced; when I was older, I played piano and sang. It's when the lights are off, when the curtain is down…that's when the emotions take hold. It's overwhelming. It's terrifying and that's why like many people, I look for an escape – and as an adult,_ _music has become that escape. But I can't be on the piano all the time and the only escape that's been a constant since I was a child – are books._

_A book, like life, is what you make of it. People read differently and this has always fascinated me ever since I was teenager._

_For example, for some reading a sad story is just too difficult. They need to know how it ends; they need answers before the first questions are ever asked. Before the first sentence. Before the opening line. Before they read 'once upon a time,' they need to be assured there's a 'happily ever after.' So, they turn to the last page, quickly scanning for key words. Maybe it's just to know if the protagonist survives or if the heroes ride off together into the sunset. But sometimes, the words printed are just too bittersweet. Life is truly a cornucopia of experience; it overflows with moments that are both bitter and sweet - and like some say, authors write what they know._

_The truth is - life is often a reflection of fiction, but it takes it to the extremes. Life is not always so kind, just like not every story has a resolution, not every antagonist is redeemable, and not every ending is a happy one._

_And because it's an escape, and there's enough tragedy in life, people don't want more. For some, I believe they_ _need to go backwards before they can move forward._

 _Then there are those who, even after knowing the story ends in tragedy, continue reading, empowered by the knowledge – as my mother said about life 'sometimes, the strength is in the knowing.' It's funny, because t_ _he book itself has never changed, only their perception of it. The heartache still happens, broken hearts don't miraculously mend and yet, when I was young, I thought about the 'what ifs.' …What if the story_ _**could** _ _change? When I was child, if a story had a sad ending, I tried to write the story in reverse. I wanted to see if I could make it happy, but my mother looked at me and asked, "Just because the ending is sad to you, doesn't mean it couldn't be happy for someone else. Sometimes, the end is simply someone else's beginning…Think about their story, their happiness, who are we to rewrite that?"_

_And maybe that's why others, the ones who'd skipped to the last page, choose to close the book._

_I cannot fault those who don't read. As I said, I look to reading as an escape but, when the escape no longer becomes enjoyable, then who am I to judge?_ _Everybody experiences life differently, just as one experiences literature, art, and music in their own way. That's the beauty in it. It's what drew me to the piano and writing music in the first place. Our goal is to evoke emotion; so, as an artist, we cannot be upset when it does._

 _Just so you know, I've never skipped to the end because I want to be there every step of the wa_ _y, experience life as the character does, never letting them suffer alone. I love books, respecting each and every journey. It's why I want to travel the world, to leave Deling City. I believe there's more - a world full of bitter and sweet memories waiting to be made. I love Galbadia, it's the only place I've ever lived, but it's not home. I always believed that I'd know home the moment I saw it. You've seen that world I want to know and, for a moment, I sometimes close my eyes and picture all the places you've been, the memories you've made – your life is a book on that you alone are the author of and it's ending is yours to write._

_Right now, I should be working on my music. Instead, I found a piece of paper and just started writing…and here I am, going on about romance and endings and we've barely even talked. I just hope…. Well, I have a lot of hope for the future, that's what I'll say for now. That reminds me, I started a song… do you remember the one I played in the hotel? That's the one, I talked about inspiration, but after you left…I had more._

_In my life, I found that the melody comes easy, but the words…that's what's difficult._

_Words have weight. Whether in a book or in song, they mean something. I want people_ _**to feel** _ _, but never more than they can handle. Hopefully, my music will be abstract, a free flowing idea that people can interpret as they need. There isn't one single cure-all; there isn't one perfect melody that can be the anthem to everybody's life. I wouldn't want there to be - because then the song would no longer have meaning…I just hope that maybe, somewhere down the road, somewhere in time, that my music has meaning to someone… I just hope it touches them as much as meeting you has touched me._

 _I told you once that we were supposed to meet. But how? Why? I don't know…you're a puzzle piece in my life, an important one_ _**,** _ _although where you fit, well, that's the true enigma. Don't ever doubt that we're meant to play some part in one another's life… Maybe it's just this - you can be that person I write to, my confidant, someone to tell my fears and doubts too, my inspiration and muse and, in my heart, I know you'll listen. You're laughing at that, aren't you? Of course you're capable of listening. I know you've joked about how you constantly talk when you're nervous but, maybe someday, you won't be nervous around me. Still, this will be our part for now… I'll keep writing you until you ask me to stop. This way, you also know that someone out there cares. Sometimes, just knowing, makes all the difference._

_Just so you know, about your talking, don't ever worry - I loved every word. You're the first person who has ever opened up to me and hearing about your life, made me feel part of it. I'm so glad we both took this chance and I got to know you better. I've never been the one to take a chance and, I promise, I'm not the type to invite a man I've only had a handful of words to my room. Also, please don't take this wrong, I worry about that, but it's the truth. My favorite memory of you was the first time we talked…well, it wasn't as much 'talked' as when we read our parts – the stable boy and the princess. It was that night when we meet the little girl in the hotel lobby meant something, it meant everything._

… _Amberlynn, her name was Amberlynn. I hope you never forget her, I know I won't as part of me will ever wonder. I hope she has the life she deserves, the one every child deserves with parents that love them. That day, that hour, that moment in time, that's exactly where we were supposed to be, and that book was_ _exactly what we were supposed to be reading. The meaning of those words, and our short conversation afterwards about our childhood, was meant to haunt us…I know it's haunting me. Like I said, words have weight, and chasing castles in the sky has become the immovable object in my mind._

_Honestly, maybe it will never be as great as my mind remembers it, but maybe it's what I needed at that time. Or maybe it's just the concept, the simplicity of it all - of seeing what's right in front of you. It's that little push that helped me write this letter, instead of working on my music. My music will be there tomorrow…I just pray that you are and whatever we have, or might have, I don't want to risk losing. Of course, I can't exactly tell that to my manger. I'll work on the song when I finish this letter…as I said, maybe I found my muse. I just… I'm afraid I'll be that person who loses sight of who I am, who does something only because it someone else's orders. I know I signed a contract and it's technically it my manager's job to get me to write, but I can't write music at the drop of a hat, my heart as to be in it._

_Laguna, promise me you'll never be a person who loses sight of who you are. Be yourself and always be loved for it._

_By the time this letter is picked up by the carrier, you'll be deployed. I'm sending it to the military PO you gave me, but things change. I may never know if this reaches you, but If it does, promise a few more things – words I was too afraid to say last night._

_See the world, make those memories, both bitter and sweet, and write the end to your story._

_I won't lie, I hope it ends with me, but if not, I'll always believe that this was fate. Like I said, you're a puzzle piece in my life, but it's too soon for the picture to emerge. Its meaning will only be between us. If I have a child, I'll buy them Castles in the Sky on Christmas Eve – that's was a tradition started by my grandmother on my mother's side. Once she passed on, my mother continued the ritual, buying me a book every year. Then, after the cookies were left for Santa, she'd read it to me before I fell asleep. One more thing I promise to my future child - I'll be the one that reads it to them or someone else who loves them, not two strangers in a hotel lobby and I'll remind them to follow their dreams – it's never money or stature, but the wealth we receive from being loved._

_So, that's how I'm going to end this letter…it's fate that brought us together, it's fate we found that little girl and, maybe, it'll be fate that brings us back together. But remember, if we're not meant to be, I'll be sad, but that's okay… because that's exactly how our story was supposed to end. For once, maybe I do wish I could skip to the end…_

_Just remember, remember the words of the book, and never, ever miss the thing that's right in front of you._

_I hope in the end, fate brings me back to you, but if it's not….I hope where ever life takes you, that you truly found your castle in the sky._

_-Julia_

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

  
**So she waited as the horses were shoed and readied, never looking up as she planned her journey.**  
 **Then she took the carriage to far off lands, searching for someone else's dreams.**  
 **She found suitors with diamonds and gold, gems and wealth.**  
 **But it was never enough, the king's hunger for power was never satisfied, never happy.**  
 **Inside, neither was she...**

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

Laguna had gone. Julia sat in alone in the hotel room… being by herself had never been so lonely. From the picture window, she watched the sun as it began to rise. Too many emotions swirling, too many memories that needed to be written down before they became lost in an emotional whirlwind. For countless hours they talked about everything, about anything and nothing. True, Laguna had done a majority of the speaking, but she didn't mind, the sound of his voice was soothing. But mostly, she loved how his demeanor changed as time passed, his nerves ebbing with the minutes.

To Julia Heartilly, Laguna Loire was a walking, talking novel that contained more stories than every book in Deling's library.

Her mind continued to race.

Picking up a romance novel she'd purchased in the hotel gift shop, she flipped through its pages. It was simply an action; a movement to occupy her hands. She couldn't possibly sit down to read, her mind couldn't possibly process the words. Correction, couldn't process _somebody else's words_ – she needed her own. She needed to write; she needed to create. Earlier, she'd admitted that she found an inspiration; maybe those words would finally flow from her pen.

Her fingers wrapped around the paperback in her hand. Smiling, she had to wonder…what category was Laguna?

This was a game she created as a child. Julia had been raised around books, taking solace in reading. As a child, she decided that there were two types of people in life - those that read each word of a book, going line-by-line, from the introduction to the epilogue… Then, there were the others, those that skipped around, who flipped to the last page and read the end. She didn't understand those people as a child, that wasn't how a book was _supposed_ to be read but, as an adult she grew to understand.

As for the type Laguna was…she'd made her decision. Maybe she was right, maybe she was wrong, but that was the best part of the game. She decided that Laguna was the type who read the ending first. His heart was endless and he'd sympathize with everyone. He didn't like it when people suffered; he was the type who would easily transfer all the pain onto himself; ironic, given his career choice, but who was she to judge his reasons?

In the book, just as in life, she believed he'd put the weight of the entire world onto his shoulders, if it were possible. Maybe that was romanticizing it, but Laguna seemed like the type of soul who cared about everyone, family and strangers alike.

Again, maybe she wasn't correct, maybe _he was_ the type to revel in the mystery each page brought. She made a mental note to ask when she saw him again. Of course, when that would be – that was the real mystery. He was leaving Galbadia tomorrow. It could be a few weeks, dare she say months, before she would see him to find out. Also, she wouldn't ask him in a letter, no, that would be question she'd reserve until they were face-to-face.

And yes, she planned on writing him. He'd given her a military address that forwarded the letters to soldiers in the field but, he reminded her it was wartime, and there were no guarantees. Still, she hoped that maybe she'd be more than a memory in his life yet.

As she walked to the nightstand to set the book down, she had a new question, one too personal to ever ask, at least not yet. If Laguna had been a 'page-skipper' (a term coined in childhood) if he knew how their story ended – and they weren't together – would he have still talked to her? Would he still have stayed to read a fairytale with a virtual stranger in posh hotel lobby? Or, weeks later, would he have overcome nerves to go to up to her room, leg cramps and all?

That's it. She knew that she could no longer hold it all in; she needed to release these pent up emotions. Grabbing a piece notebook that rested next to the romance novel, she began jotting down thoughts as they came to mind. This was often how she wrote – chaotic, free, abstract – it was only then when she was the truest to herself.

And so, she wrote…

It made no sense, it never did. Phrases, emotions, fears, fragments of thoughts – this was her process.

 _When I first saw you I was – nervous, brave, no longer alone…happy? Were you real? Like a dream… Could I have been dreaming? Yes, maybe… Reality, fantasy, real? … I felt like a princess in a dream… whisked on a white stallions. Queens and kings, knights, sunsets…falling. Castles, fairytale… Castles in the Sky…dreams… Mine? Or someone else's? You and I are supposed to be intertwined, but are you a dream… A dream…_ _dreaming, dreamer, dreamed, dreams_ _._

She underlined the last part, writing several forms of the word 'dream.' She couldn't shake the thought 'who's dream was she in or was someone in her dream?' Real or fantasy? The thoughts cycled through her mind until they no longer sounded like words.

Maybe she needed to take the advice of Amberlynn's book and look at what was in front of her, which currently, was a pad of lined paper with nonsensical non-sentences scribbled about. That's it! Not only was it right in front of her, it was the right answer. Literally in front of her was lined paper, who's intended purpose was for writing… She wanted to write Laguna a letter -another correction - she _needed_ to write Laguna a letter. Ripping off the top page, she tossed it on the bed, there would be time for lyrics later…. And sometimes distance was all that was needed. Maybe if she came back and looked at her page of words, that no longer sounded like words, the answer would jump off the page.

She'd have her song yet.

_Dear Laguna,_

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

  
**The entire world had been offered to princess on a golden platter;**   
**her heart longed for the love of her father, but that wasn't wealth to him, but weakness.**   
**She smiled, solid in the facade but, if she found his castle, maybe his love wouldn't be far behind.**   


  
**When the night fell, her tears were hidden by the darkness.**  
 **Her inner voice whispered that her life wasn't as it seemed;**  
 **her mind and heart no longer wanted to chase someone else's dream.**

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

Julia was nervous.

This wasn't her. She would never take initiative to invite a man to her hotel room – but she did. It wasn't very 'ladylike' in the circles she traveled. Then again, there probably weren't many circles around Galbadia where it would be acceptable. It wasn't a clandestine meeting, but she feared word would travel back to father, but what was reward without risk?

The man, her father, was rather vocal about her 'hobby,' making sure that his opinion had been to know, both to her and all the hired help within mansion. He saw no future in music. The industry was already a hard road, but traveling alone…she couldn't. She was alone and that thought both terrified and motivated her. Her father would never understand, but he'd also never try… Music wasn't about fame or fortune; money had been at her fingertips her entire life and she never found that happiness, at least, after her passed away.

Julia never chased notoriety; it was the music she wanted remembered, never her name. As she followed her dream, she was never completely alone – she had her notes. They'd been her constant and, when she closed her eyes, even on the darkest day, she could still hear their melody. In the darkness she often dreamed, finding more solace than in the light.

Ironically, its aspects often paralleled her father's world where dreams were only illusions, not something tangible to chase after. He had started in business law, until finance and greed had taken over his life – now he'd been the newly-appointed vice-president of Deling's most affluent bank.

Money had become his life. Unfortunately, over the years, it had also become his blood.

And, at the opposite end of the spectrum, was Laguna Loire. Honestly, she didn't know much about him… well, besides that he was enlisted in the Galbadian army and a few scattered details that gleamed.

But if her father found out he was merely an enlisted man, well…he wouldn't be happy about that either. He told her once if that if wasn't at least a two star general or above, don't bother bringing him to dinner. As sweet as Laguna was, her father would never approve, he valued wealth and power and Laguna held neither and she doubt that he ever would – but that's another reason Julia liked him.

..Julia smiled sadly as she thought of her mother. She would've liked him for no other reason than she made her daughter happy. She would have understood all of this, encouraging Julia to follow her dreams. Well, with one slight catch, she would've insistent that she'd gone to university first, not because she didn't believe in her, only because she'd been a teacher and valued education. She was always about backup and contingency planning. It's because of her mother that Julia had been working on her degree but, her music schedule was trying, she could only manage a few hours a semester, but she knew her mother was still very, very proud.

Her mother finally lost her battle two days after Julia's eleventh birthday, but she never left, at least that's what Julia had chosen to believe; her spirit would've been just as stubborn in death as it was life - a trait they'd been accused of sharing – so she would stay close, like a guardian angel.

…And right now, she could use a little divine help.

Julia Heartilly waited.

…And waited.

…And paced the hotel room floor.

Anxiety didn't begin to describe what she felt. Fragmented questions and thoughts bombarded her mind. The ones she couldn't shake were often the most prosaic – remembering how to breathe or to talk herself though the process of walking…which brought her to her next question, why hadn't she changed shoes?

Of all the thoughts in the universe, that's the one she couldn't shake. She hated heels, but the norms of society, and yes, even the hotel bar, insisted that she wear them. It made her appear more 'feminine' according to her contract. She hadn't stayed true to herself; she'd slowly allowed herself to become a product in her eyes; they'd already taken away her choice, forcing her into a dress and bow. She was a business, it was about selling the 'whole package,' but she wasn't property to be wrapped and given. Yet as the days passed by, she found herself conforming to their image, no longer remembering where she ended and they began.

Was that why she hadn't taken them off? Had Laguna expected the persona rather than the person? So she stayed in them. Not only did she stay in them, she continued walking in them, pacing, always pacing. It was hundreds, i _f not thousands_ , of tiny little circles going between the door and the window. With each pass she wondered if it was too late to change; _ **if**_ he showed, she wanted to answer the door right away. She didn't want to be one of those women who did everything fashionably late…or for that matter, she didn't want to appear overly-anxious. After he knocked, how many seconds was too many? How many was too late? Groaning, she realizing how pathetic all of sounded. It's why she didn't do _this_. She was usually shy, reserved; she wasn't the type to ask men to do anything – to dinner, to dance, and most certainly not up to her room, but Laguna Loire made her want to do that – to take chances.

Her hand reached up to her necklace as her fingers wrapped tightly around it. She smiled as she held onto the ballet shoe-shaped charm; this had been a habit as long as she could remember. It comforted her when nobody else did, when her father yelled at her for being rebellious, likely, because she had the audacity to wear pants to a tea party, but the charm had belonged to her grandmother.

Her grandmother – she was everything that Julia aspired to be – a free spirit. Even more intriguing was that she'd been rumored to help a small group of rebels during a political coup. She loved hearing those stories as a child and promised to pass them down. Later, her grandmother fled from Timber to Deling, until her dying day she claimed that Timber had been her homeland at heart. Julia had never been; she'd never traveled but, one day, she would. She'd see the world and all the beauty contained within. If she had children, she wanted to travel with them – to big towns and small villages, everywhere the wind could take them. Julia had decided long ago she wouldn't be like her father, strict and regimented. At that time, she had begun to resent him; she could only pray that her children would never know that feeling.

Holding the charm tightly, she was still a jumbled mass of nerves. Here she was in her twenties, supposedly the paramount of society, and yet she was reduced to nothing more than a school girl wondering if he'd show. As thoughts and questions collided in her head, part of her wondered if she'd even be able to formulate a coherent sentence. Hopefully, Laguna would show…and maybe, just maybe, he'd do all the talking because, right now, it would be a small victory just to remember her name.

" _Julia, Julia,"_ she whispered the mantra, feeling as silly as she sounded. To the world she was this petite, polite, put-together member of society, but that was mere the façade, the product. One day she hoped that someone would see her for she truly was inside, not a perfect little porcelain 'doll,' but someone who wouldn't melt if she danced in the rain, more importantly, someone who dreamed of dancing in the rain.

Maybe Laguna would be the one to see the real her, even if her father never approved. Julia certainly couldn't picture herself with a two star general or above, that is, unless they were attending a costume ball. She also knew her father's health had been slowly deteriorating. If she were in his shoes, not these godforsaken high heels, she would be happy if her daughter married someone like Laguna; someone who liked her for the person she was inside. Hopefully, her father would see it that way too.

She groaned.

Again, she was getting ahead of herself - daughters _and_ marriage? She'd better get her act together fast…or at least go on actual first date before she harbored thoughts like that. No reason to scare the guy off before he even showed up. That was, _if_ he showed.

…And there went the 'If,' because someone just knocked.

Then again, if it was a bellhop delivering room service to the wrong room, she'd probably have a breakdown. Or maybe she'd get his number because her father might like him, she mused to herself. This was Deling City after all; there was a high probability that if the man was in food service here, he was also an unemployed actor. Who knows, maybe the guy would end up making it big and play a _four star_ military general in a movie. That had to count for something, right?

That thought made her laugh softly. _"I hope he likes me,"_ she whispered softly to herself, ignoring how stupid she felt on the inside. She didn't want him to see her like this, at least right away – ease him into the truth. So, she stood up straight, and with a diminutive smile, she opened the door.

"Laguna, I'm so glad you could make it."

"…Ah, um, yeah…. I mean, me too!"

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

  
**She rode one night to escape her mind; she jumped on her horse and was told to stop;**  
 **the stable boy didn't know her in the dark; she didn't know him at all.**  
 **The Princess had seen him every day, but she'd been too blind to see.**  
 **He had protected her by caring for her horse, tending to the carriage,**  
 **putting all of himself into defending her kingdom the only way he was able.**  
 **His station in life didn't afford him much;**  
 **he shoed her horse and those of her knights, tending to their wounds in between battles.**  
 **In the darkness she'd cry, but not tonight.**  
 **With the light of the moon, it lit up his eyes, and all she could see was…home.**

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

She waited for him. Every time the door opened, she looked.

She shouldn't have been so obvious; she tried to shield her eyes looking at some brochures at the counter. The desk clerk was a friend; she smiled and laughed as she shook her head, but she'd always been supportive – far more than Julia could say about most people in her life.

Julia couldn't explain why she felt like this about a man she'd only ever seen. Worse yet she bribed a waitress for a name – _Kiros_. Julia couldn't say if it was a first or last name; the military men who came into the bar to drink often were referred by both. Still, calling him "Mr. Kiros" would be rather silly if it was a first name.

She hadn't ever spoken to him. Well, _sort of,_ not by any real definition of the word. She'd smile and say 'hello' as she passed by to the piano, but she said that to everybody; it was etiquette, not to mention, her manager would've insisted. There'd only been one other time, but they exchanged pleasantries, again, _sort of_. She'd played her last note and when she looked up, he was there placing money into a tip jar. He looked embarrassed and shyly turned away; it was as if he'd been caught, but she reassured him with a polite 'thank you.' Turning back, he smiled brightly, but there had been pain. She felt for him, for all the horror he must have seen, had suffered through and, by the way he grabbed his leg, it was obvious that the injury was a lasting reminder of this war. Still, she couldn't help it, her heart wanted to comfort him as he slowly limped away.

A 'thank you' and a 'hello' didn't qualify as speaking to him, did it? Then again, with all the butterflies occupying her stomach, she felt pathetic enough to believe it did, maybe then, the 'first conversation jitters' would be over.

By now, her feet had begun to ache, she was still getting used to wearing high heels. Finally, she sat down, taking a nearby seat in the lobby. She avoided looking around, making eye contact with others, wouldn't be wise. She should have already been on her way home; her father had eyes and ears everywhere. So, she took out a book from her purse, going through the motions of reading. She couldn't as her mind had been preoccupied with thoughts about him, _Kiros_ , her soldier with the wounded leg mostly from war. She thought about him, of all the little things she wanted to take the time to learn. If his life had been a book, she believed it would be one of those impossible to put down; it was always one more chapter, one more page, her heart would skip a beat as she waited to find out what came next.

Her life...her life, so far, was the book that permanently resided on the library's shelf. She dreamed that would change and her story would become a novel brimming full with music and art. Who knows, maybe her life would transform into a best-seller and right now it was merely a diamond in the rough. It wasn't as if she could predict the future - she believed that life supposed to be a chain of surprises.

Then again, she could be completely wrong about everything - her life, her story… _Kiros_. Maybe her hope had had been an illusions and she'd accepted as truth, had always been lies in disguise. Words are misleading, perception can be deceiving. Even someone who truly loves you has the ability to twist their words in order to mislead.

One line can change a story; one word can change a life.

This was a reality that that haunted her since she was nine. She couldn't explain to others, although she'd never tried. But how do explain the unexplainable? Since books had represented such a pivotal part of her life, it had been the natural comparison to make.

It was like reading a story that touched you deeply, spending not only hours, but days, feeling for the characters. It went beyond reading, but immersing yourself into their lives, knowing them as well as they know themselves. It was sharing the moment with the protagonist as the seeds of love were planted; seeing her across a crowded ballroom floor. It was staying throughout their adversity, tears welling in your eyes as the hero's body became beaten and broken. It's crying with the heroine as a sword plunged through her lover's chest…or whatever literary devise tears at the heartstrings. It was always that part Julia loved, the part she craved; it's when the author should be commended.

And, for some, that's the point when it becomes too much as the fantasy had transformed into a form of realty. The power dynamic had shifted and concern and fear outweigh the mystery. The words have become greater than their sum – a living, breathing, entity who lords emotional power.

So, some become scared, become overly invested, and skip to the last page. As they skim the words, there mind picks up what it needed to - so they read about the wedding on the beach as the heroes exchanging vows, and they gleam that the characters the love have found their happy ending.

Their mind only picked up what it needed to and rest assured they continue the story without the worry. The good the bad, they read every last poignant and haunting word. Each time there is pain, they think of that wedding and of the _'happily ever after,'_ so they press on…

Then it happens, when the lie becomes the truth. It's the defining moment where a single line changes everything. Words can mock and these certainly do…

…"But when she woke up, alone, she realized it had been nothing more than a beautiful dream."

It's the one line they wished had never been printed. They try to forget, but their emotions are too intertwined with the memories. It's the pain they remember rather than the journey. They try to act like that one line doesn't exist doesn't exist; they fight, and deny, they try to convince others that they alone understand the author's true intent.

And all that time you spent reading, was suddenly torn away. The adventure you shared has become part of the lie. The book is put down, never to be read again. It wasn't the author's fault, their words had never changed, but without context of the heroine's dream, there wasn't a way to know.

That's why Julia never looked at the end of books, she was afraid of the context.

That was the only way she could begin to describe how she felt, but it hadn't been a book that hurt her. She tried to forget, but her mother's words would always haunt her; she'd forgiven her, but honestly she could never forget – which was worse?

Julia had been too young, not even ten. She couldn't decipher context and double meaning. Her love of books had helped her with words that her classmates didn't understand yet, but she couldn't be taught what comes with age…understanding. Maybe she was partially to blame, believing the words she wanted to hear – she'd fallen for the illusion of the wedding on the beach. No matter what she wanted to believe in adolescence, her mother had never lied; she _had_ always been here, but not in the sense that a nine year-old could understand.

With age, Julia couldn't blame her mother and what remained was the residual guilt of a helpless child. She put herself in her shoes…if she had her own daughter, and knew that she wouldn't be there to see her grow; she too may keep the truth close to her chest. Her mother had given her a few moments of hope in a childhood lined with darkness. To this day, that had been one of the greatest gifts she had ever received.

And her mother was still very much here. When she closed her eyes, Julia could feel her all around her.

That's what kept her going; it's what gave her the strength to stay true to herself instead of conforming, becoming what society expected her to be. What father told her she would be.

Tonight was not about the past, but about stepping into the present. In truth, she had no idea what tonight would bring; honestly, nobody would know the significance tonight would bring. Tonight, they'd create new history for the future; history for their grandkids, but not _**their**_ grandkids.

It was about a book. A gift. A future sacrifice. This would be the ties that bound Julia and Laguna together and, not only that, it was destined to bind generations and families. Its effects would never be known by one single entity. That's the beauty of fate; sometime it does its most poignant work in silence.

.

In a room full of people, Julia continued to be alone.

The world walked by; some were lovers hand-in-hand, others businessmen getting a nightcap, and some spending time with friends. She wondered, if someday, her music would be heard anywhere besides a hotel bar. Truthfully, even when she played here, she was rarely heard. She was background music – on the stage and off. That's all she was to the world and to her father.

Julia wanted one person to remember her for the person she was inside even if the entire world forgot.

That's why she wanted to write; ironically, not the books she loved, but the musical she equally loved. She dreamed of being remembered in a melody; she wanted to be an aria sung to the rafters. From the first time she placed her eyes on him, he'd become her unlikely muse. That's how she saw him - striking, youthful, and beautifully naïve. In a split second, he became so many things all at once. If she was background music, he would be the chorus.

He was a far cry from the society men she'd grown up with. In truth, most were not 'men.' She considered some barely-human by the way they'd treated women -nothing more than objects to be owned. Julia was barely into her twenties and she felt as if she'd spent three quarters of her adolescent life attending society balls, playing the part of trophy date.

Most outside her stature couldn't understand what she felt; trapped and suffocated by the world that so many wanted to be a part of.

Not him, he wasn't the type who lived by the Gil. Somehow, she knew that about him the first moment she laid her eyes on him. No, it wasn't love at first sight, but there was something strong pulling her, an emotional attraction that drew her, a sense of belonging she craved. She couldn't explain it to herself, let alone to others. They'd take one look at him and say her feelings were solely physical. She knew it was something deeper, but, to be fair, she wasn't too blind to see the truth - physically- _Kiros_ _was also totally, and utterly hot._

She bit her lip, embarrassed at her own thoughts; her father would be beside himself, aghast at her crude behavior. A woman who carried her station in life should never describe a male as 'hot.' Of course, her mother would've laughed….to be honest, she may have even joined in that opinion...

Hopefully, her mother was a guardian angel watching over her, because with an awe-inspiring vocabulary that included 'hot,' she needed all the help she could get…and then a little more. With her luck, her handsome - _or rather hot_ \- long-haired stranger would end up being some road scholar or Language Art professor who'd enlisted for the good of his country…. If so, she needed to calm herself, because she certainly wasn't going to wow him with her impressive word skills.

That brought her back to that other major hurdle in their relationship – the minor detail of never speaking to him.

True, she knew his name, but that was only through hearsay. She'd spoken to one of the wait staff, although not the usual server, too embarrassed to say why; she mentioned that when he'd placed a tip into the jar, something had fallen from his pocket and she wanted to return it. Not that a man saddled with so much responsibility in the service was apt to misplace something, but maybe they'd buy it. The waitress seemed aware, mentioning that he drank with two other men – she believed the larger one referred to him as _Kiros_. She added that they had a section for lost and found; Julia smiled politely, saying 'thank you.' Of course, it would be later that Julia learned that the waitress meant that Laguna (rather than the misidentified Kiros) had **his own section** at the lost and found.

As she leafed through the book, she knew she would have to leave soon. She'd switched, working an earlier shift in hopes of catching him. He always came late. But her father didn't like her out after nightfall as he considered the bar's clientele less than reputable and the few hours she'd bought with the switched had mostly ebbed away. They still didn't get along, virtual strangers under the same roof. Her books and music were her escape; she kept everything bottled inside, letting her pain spread like a disease. She never spoke of their relationship; only one time in life did she open up, and that was only slightly, but it was to a friend's father. In her lifetime, she never would say more.

Most that knew him saw the truth; he was controlling, demanding order and insisting on perfection. Nothing was ever good enough; he was old-fashioned with outdated notions of gender roles. He'd hit her only twice, but she remembered them well; he would never be proud of her…but it seemed fair, she would never be proud of him. That's why when she was on stage she'd only go by Julia and once she had the money, she'd leave this place behind. She'd travel, see the world, and maybe settle in Timber, her mother was from there. She never got to go home, but she'd made a promise to herself to fulfill her mother's dream.

She wanted to leave; to escape, to leave this life behind and, yes, even her father.

But those days were quite some time away; she'd have to wait for that…

For now, she passed her minutes somewhere else. Every so often her fingers flipped the page, her mind too far gone to actually read. She sat on a satin wingback chair that was close to the front desk; this way, if her father called, she would know. Sadly, she had nowhere else to really be; the hotel had a standing offer to let use a room, but she always turned it down but, maybe one night, she would. It wouldn't be much, but it would be a taste of freedom.

About forty minutes before, she had been watching the door for Kiros, but instead a little girl had walked in. She sat in the lobby, but this time when Julia looked up, she caught the young girl's eyes. They exchanged brief smiles, but said nothing. For Julia, words were arbitrary – behind the smile she read the loneliness; smiles never truly hid what was inside. Maybe only those who'd masked their entire lives could spot the pain so easily in others.

The girl looked to be around five. She wasn't a stranger here; from what Julia gathered her parents were too busy with their work to be bothered. Meeting potential investors in the lounge, they'd shuffle the girl off to the lobby. Julia had seen her often, usually in the same spot, on a plush settee that was closest to the fireplace. Julia felt ashamed of herself – she'd seen her, but she never truly noticed – or worse yet, maybe she subconsciously tried not to. A wave of guilt flooded her, ashamed of who she'd become. Even in her twenties, Julia's greatest wish was for someone to see her for the person she was but, here was a little girl, who probably just wanted someone to see her **at all.**

Then Julia knew the truth; she hadn't noticed the girl because it was simply too difficult. But now, as she sat there, the lonely girl was all Julia could see – and she radiated innocence like an angel. A white lace dress was spread around her, hair swept back with large draping curls, she looked a porcelain doll. Perfect, immaculate, and meant to be someone's showpiece rather than a child. She was holding a larger-sized book; from where she sat, Julia could see the illustrations taking up a good portion of the pages. It too looked like a show piece, the perfect accessory, expensive looking and leather-bound.

Julia hadn't realized what she'd been doing until the girl caught her staring but, this time, neither smiled. It was a symbolic mirror to the past for one of them, a mirror into the future for the other.

Angel looked back down as she continued reading. Of course 'Angel' wasn't her given name, but it's what came to mind and, to Julia, it felt like a fitting nickname. The more that she looked at her, the more familiar everything became, down to the stuffed Chocobo sitting beside her, strategically positioned so her little friend could see the pictures too.

The similarities had becoming uncomfortably eerie; Julia felt herself blinking back the tears as she finally had to turn away. Her childhood had been a parade of books, most read in the company of her stuffed Chocobo. Julia swallowed, as she wiped her eyes – she couldn't do this now. Having a breakdown wouldn't exactly be the way Julia wanted Kiros to see her yet, seeing that stuffed Chocobo, had opened the floodgates.

That bird had been her best friend through childhood. Julia believed that he'd been her guardian; however, it now served a more important role – protecting someone more important. After the funeral, before the casket was sealed, she had snuck the bird into the casket. It was…the bravest thing that she'd ever done, the only time she'd gone against her father's wishes. He had made her get rid of it, saying she was too grown up for childish things. So her friend's father had taken it in, given it a temporary home. Her father never asked where it was – he just wanted that thing out of their house.

Then, after her mother died, Julia had known where the Chocobo wound find his final home. With the help of a man who had always been more of a father than the one living in the house, he distracted the funeral director, and Julia went and placed it in with her mother. This way they'd both be safe for eternity and, more importantly, neither would ever be alone. To this day, that had been the bravest Julia had ever been, going against her father, but she had a reason.

Hopefully, Angel's story would turn out better than that.

Like Julia, reading was probably the one of the only escapes the girl had. However, it was obvious that she was struggling with some of the words. Her face contorted slightly as she tried to sound out the syllables. Julia had her mother to help her learn, this girl, probably didn't even have that.

Even if Julia hadn't seen her earlier, she saw now – it wasn't too late for her. Getting up, she walked over, and asked the little girl if she needed any help. The girl was hesitant at first, probably a little unnerved with a stranger talking to her...or worse, because the girl wasn't used to people caring.

Finally, the girl smiled and introduced herself; Julia learned that Angel had a name, it was Amberlynn.

Julia joined her new friend on the settee and, instead of reading the book right away, she took a moment to find out a little bit about the girl. Nothing personal, but they just talked about small things, stuffed Chocobos, favorite foods, and, of course, they talked about books. They found their similarities, both loving fairytales and stories set in fantasy worlds. Growing up, she'd always loved fairytales, but when you are a part of Deling City's affluent society, nobody writes fairytales about you. That's when Amberlynn began talking about the book was reading.

It had been a gift from a former nanny; Julia saw her light up, it was the love that was usually reserved for parents, but that's likely what this woman had become, a surrogate mother. She'd been older, passing away suddenly, but she'd left special instructions to give the family heirloom to the girl.

 _Castles in the Sky_ , it was her favorite. Amberlynn's eyes lit up, she spoke with such passion – the earlier skittish demeanor had transformed into excitement. She went on and explained that fairytales were her favorite and this was the _best of the best_ \- the pictures the hero the princess, _everything_ about it. She said the story said it didn't matter if you had money or not, but it was the person you were inside.

Somewhere in their conversation, Julia had forgotten about herself and her reason for being there. When it came to reading, Julia often forgot about a lot of things. But her head snapped up as she happened to it, a voice that she'd only heard once. She thought she heard - _but wasn't sure_ \- it sounded as if he asked the woman at the counter if the girl who played piano had gone on yet. Julia had frozen, all her attention on the man in the Galbadian uniform.

…And it seemed that her new 'guardian angel' had taken notice.

For such a young child, she truly was smart. She got up, walking up to the man at the front desk and said that girl he was looking for was right over here. She grabbed his hand and started to drag him over. Julia wanted to disappear into the settee.

Even more embarrassing, the guy didn't want to move at first, looking as shocked as Julia felt. Yet, Amberlynn was nothing if not persistent….or maybe _Kiros_ wasn't the type to break a little girl's heart; a quality that made him even more attractive. Either way, he came over, stumbling over his words as he tried to introduce himself.

"Er...uh...Loire... I mean Laguna...wait, no, Laguna Loire." He looked away sheepishly. "Long day."

"Julia Heartilly…and this is my new friend Amberlynn." She spoke eloquently, although inside slightly horrified that she'd been calling him by the wrong name, even if it was her mind.

Then she did something she never thought she'd do; the second bravest thing in her life. "I'm just about to help her with a story, would you like to help with the role of knight?"

The girl giggled, "No, he's not a knight, he's a stable boy. The princess can't help who she falls in love with."

It seemed the little matchmaker was quite good, very good. And so they all agreed, reading, playing their parts, and most of all, enjoying themselves. Both Julia and Amberlynn could relate to the story, both of them born into wealth. Money was supposed to buy happiness, right? It didn't. The two girls knew this more than anyone. And to Julia, it hit home even more, and believed it did for her young friend too, as the father in the story was just like theirs, concerned about stature and money. It was always more money – one more bank deal, one more investor.

By the book's end, the princess in the story found happiness with her true love, a stable boy. The princess hadn't noticed him at first, too busy chasing her father's dream and never having her own. Until one day, she finally saw the man – what she wanted all along, the happiness and acceptance she craved, and most importantly, her _happily ever after_ – all of it had been in front of her all along. Julia had read a lot of books, but there was something about reading this that haunted her; maybe it was the story, what it represented, or maybe it was the company she kept. In that moment, she realized too that she hadn't read out loud since her mother, and even her stuffed Chocobo, had been gone.

When they closed the book, the matchmaker had one last comment.

"Look Laguna, when she's on stage that means she's been in front of you all along."

They laughed, albeit awkwardly. That was when the girl's parents called for her and she smiled, saying goodbye. As she walked away, her parents didn't ask her how her night was, they merely scolded her for talking to strangers and grabbed the book from her hands. The girl walked out with her head down and, again, history repeated itself.

Then Laguna watched the scene, placing a hand on Julia's shoulder, then retracted it just as quickly, as if he hadn't meant to do that.

"She's strong. It'll be okay…and, you know, at least she wasn't alone."

It seemed that Laguna had seen Amberlynn around here too. Then, he took a page from the story and said they'd given her something money couldn't buy.

He didn't say the rest, but Julia knew what he meant – tonight, someone cared.

She turned and looked at him; it was odd, he hadn't tripped over those words. He meant them from his heart; it seemed they had flowed naturally. And then she knew one thing: Laguna was a much more fitting name.

They didn't talk after that; she didn't know if it counted as a conversation or not. But even if it wasn't, they'd shared something. Julia had to leave after that, but she never forgot. There was something perfect about it – not only that, it stood for something more. For a moment, Julia had returned to the past and hearing Laguna's voice, knowing that he cared about a little girl who was a stranger to both of them…. It was like telling a ten-year old version of herself that it would be all right - someone else, besides her mother, somewhere in time, would care.

Amberlynn would be just fine and so would Julia. The future was uncertain, but if they both kept searching, they'd find their destiny; they'd find their Castle in the Sky.

**-o-o-o-o-**

She would never share those memories with anyone, not even her husband. It wasn't Fury's fault that she'd lost part of heart to the memory of a virtual stranger. She'd never tell him why she wanted to get that specific book for Rinoa's fifth Christmas. She also never told anyone why she spent a day at the park when she heard the news...

She mourned.

He had played the part of the fallen hero. He'd be a foot note in history, nobody remembering his name. She would. That day as she sat quietly, skipping stones into a small lagoon, she vowed to pass on the legacy of this perfect stranger with amazing eyes - _they_ were what songs were written for. She'd only known him a short time, but he'd made lifelong impression. He made her laugh and smile and often said the absolutely _wrong_ things at the absolutely _right_ times.

Most of all, he represented the future. He represented possibility and hope; maybe her mother was right, he was just another puzzle piece of her life – and if she stepped back, she saw the big picture…and least, for now. He gave her hope; he showed that someone could care about here- even a random stranger in a tiny hotel bar.

Maybe that's why she found out he was alive, it was easier. Yes, she was sad at what could've been, a part of her heart would always remain with him, but they'd both found someone. In time, she would have a beautiful daughter, the first of many she believed.

No, Julia may have never found the true love found in fairytales, but that was another story.

She loved Fury and he loved her; that's all anyone would ever need to know.

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

  
**It wasn't the castle adorned with gems that floated in the air.**  
 **It was something real; someone who had always been in front of her, but she was too blind to see.**  
 **He had no money or gold and the king forbade them to see each other; the man was beneath her.**  
 **She kissed her father and said she loved him, but she'd found her place in this world.**  
 **With a sad smile, she informed the king that the was wrong;**  
 **the stable boy had never been 'beneath' him; rather her father had it wrong.**  
 **The ruler of kingdoms with fortunes untold had been the one 'beneath' the young man;**  
 **he was able to love with all his heart and it made him far wealthier than the king.**

**-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-**

"Once upon a time, there was a mother who loved her daughter very, very much. Each week, she and her little girl would scour the shelves of Deling City's library to find the perfect book and, each and every Christmas Eve, her mother searched for the perfect book that they could read together. The mother would look for months just to find a story that was just as special as her little girl."

Smiling, little Julia scooted over in twin bed, making space for her mother. "Of course, you already know that part of the story, don't you Jules? But since Christmas is in a week, I was thinking… Now that you're getting big, almost ten, maybe it's time we change the tradition."

"Double digits, I'll be old." The little girl shook her head, apparently in age-denial. She handed her mother a spare pillow to put behind her back.

Her mother laughed. "Yes, yes you will be old, _ancient_ even. I remember those carefree days of 'single digits' well." Still smiling, the woman reached for the bedtime story that had been sitting on the nightstand. Resting it on her lap, she looked back to her daughter. "But Julia, it's because you're going to be that old… Pardon me, I meant since you're going to be _that ancient,_ that we should update our tradition. I was thinking that this year, maybe instead of a book, I'll get you a magazine. Heck, it's Christmas, how about a monthly subscription? Knowing you like I do, I bet you'd love something on the topic of fly fishing."

The little girl shook her head vehemently, sounding 'not amused' at the newly proposed change. "That's dad's thing."

"Knitting? Oh right, right…that's Grandma Cathy's hobby. Hockey? No, no that was Grandma Elizabeth's thing… Um, maybe martial arts? Gunblade? Nunchaku? You know, they really should put all those weapons into one magazine…it'd be so much easier than listing them. Oh wait, Julia, I got it! How could I have been so blind? It was right in front of me… Grocery-List Monthly? Never mind, I guess that's my thing, not that I really have a choice, but you do, so maybe you'd prefer cross-stitching or model trains… Oh, wait-"

"…Mom, you forgot I like trains, but nice try!" She giggled. "You know mom, I'm almost double-digits now, I'm not a kid anymore. I know when you're not being serious. But, no matter what, no matter how old I get, even when I reach into triple digits, I'll still want our Christmas book." She looked overly sheepishly, "…Although if you could make it a book on trains, that would be really good too."

"I… I don't think your father would be too appreciative, he doesn't believe trains were meant for little girls, but _maybe_ I can find something with a train in the background – my goofy little engineer." This time, they laughed together as little Julia hid her face in her pillow as her mother reached over to mess up her hair. The little girl had tried not to notice, but she did, she saw the moment her mother's expression turned solemn. "I'm sorry, hun. Your father's just… _old fashioned_. He's a man who was raised on tradition and he has this archaic idea that little girls should like princesses, castles, ballet, and all that girly stuff."

"…But I like that too. Can't I like both?"

"Of course…and no matter what, promise me you'll always like what you like. Don't ever let anyone change who you are…even if that's a goofy little girl who wants to be the 'Princess of all things Trains'." Once again, her mother tried to laugh, but it was only to mask her momentary sadness. "Jules, I'm serious, don't ever change who you are – and like what you like because _**you**_ like it, not because of someone and their antiquated notions about gender roles."

"Good, because I love trains, cars, dolls, and stuffed Chocobos." Young Julia looked down at the stuffed yellow bird in her hands. The Chocobo's neck had been ripped off two years ago, but Julia's mother had been there to save the day. Thankfully, she played the role of emergency veterinary technician and the decapitated bird was suddenly no longer headless. That's when Mr. Obo's nickname became Lucky, a tradition that would be passed.

Her mother had always been there for her, but Julia knew it was her time to repay the favor; she was sad, Julia could always tell from her mother's voice. She always felt uncomfortable looking at her like this, so kept her eyes on the bird…she would miss Lucky. Julia's father had informed her that when she was ten, she would be too old for stuffed Chocobos. The bird would no longer be allowed in the house; it didn't matter that her friends who were years older had them.

One time, she was over at her friend's house and they'd been exhausted from playing hide-and-go-Chocobo, a game that the local children created. She recalled how hot it was that day and to cool everyone off, her friend's father invited all the neighborhood kids to come in and have a popsicle. She remembered being utterly amazed he'd allow all eight of them in at once. Once they were all there, she remembered seeing that he had a small stuffed Chocobo on his desk. She was dumbfounded, staring at the bird in shock. The father walked over, worried that she'd gone silent; he asked her what was wrong and she told him. He smiled knowingly and put a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes he said that he believed that you're never too old for Chocobos.

Then in a gesture she'd never forget, he offered Lucky the Chocobo asylum in their house when she turned ten; he said that she could keep him there and, if and when the time came, Lucky could go back home. Julia smiled with tears in her eyes; she hated the thought, nine years old and feeling like she was betraying the mother who loved her so much but, in that moment, she was jealous of her stuffed Chocobo.

Tonight, as her mother lay next to her on the bed, she wanted to test Nicky's father's theory. Maybe if she handed her mother the stuffed bird, she wouldn't cry anymore either.

"Here mommy," young Julia hesitated at first, but when her mother accepted Lucky with a smile, holding it tightly in her arms, she knew she'd done the right thing; she also knew that Nicky's dad had been correct. She also knew that Lucky would have new home.

Now that her mother had stopped her tears, the ones she desperately tried to hide, there was something Julia had to ask. "Mom, you said antiquated? Is that like antique…like old -ancient?"

"Yes, very good. That would be the root word. It's like adhering to the past. Do you know what adhere means?"

"Yep. I do… So, can we make peas antiquated in the house then?" Julia asked as she watched her mother held onto the Chocobo tightly.

The woman had to stop and think about that for a second. Her brow furrowed, but her smile never faded. "Jules, I don't think it works like that exactly, although I did want to mention something from earlier – I was so proud of you. You ate all your peas tonight." Her mother swallowed nervously, looking toward the doorway. She knew she shouldn't have brought that up, like so many things she'd already said tonight, especially speaking that loud. Unfortunately, it was easier for everyone if Julia didn't make a fuss about her food; in their household, even admitting she didn't something being served was considered a sign of disrespect.

"Don't worry, I'll eat them, but peas are still icky…just like boys. They're all meanies that should be antiquated." The older woman couldn't help but laugh. In the span of a few seconds, Julia had used the words antiquated, meanies, and icky – words that spanned the intellectual spectrum.

"Julia, I'm not upset, but what have I said about name-calling? How would you feel if someone called you a meanie? And if those were my boys, or if you had a brother, I wouldn't want you calling them that either. Remember, always put yourself in someone else's shoes and wonder, 'how would you feel if your child went around calling people meanies?' I don't think you'd like it."

"Sorry…you're right, I wouldn't like it. It's just the boys I know are mean."

"It's all right sweetie but, mark my words, someday that opinion of yours is going to change… Boys won't always be so icky."

"…But peas will."

"So you say now, but what if you learn to love them?" Julia's mom fake-tickled her daughter "Or what if they're the primary exported crop of your not-so-icky Prince Charming's kingdom? Trust me, someday you may be pleased he has a plethora of peas." The woman stopped as Julia leaned against her, still smiling. Her mother opened her mouth as if she was going to speak, stopped, and repeated the motion until she finally spoke. "Wow, that's a tongue-twister, try saying that one three times fast - please a plethora of peas."

They both repeated the phrase until it no longer sounded like words. It ended in a bout of hysterical, but soft, laughter. "Poor Jules, I really do feel for you. I hope getting tongue-tied, talking to yourself, and repeating sentences out loud isn't a trait passed down. Unfortunately, it's a habit my mother had too – so that tends to be a bad sign."

At that point, her mother placed the Chocobo between them, resting its lopsided re-sewn head on a pillow, and then pulling the covers carefully over the beloved bird – this way Lucky could see the pictures in the book too. Then she began reading tonight's chapter to her daughter; sometimes she'd read more, but _never_ less. This too had become their ritual; a rite of passage that was exclusive to them.

Tonight, they decided on three chapters – one for mom, one for the daughter, and one for Lucky aka Mr. Cho C. Obo - to those who knew him formally. When she turned off the light, her mother normally gave her a kiss before leaving. Tonight, for a reasons she still held close, she remained on the bed holding her daughter.

She couldn't tell Julia, not yet. To say the words would make them real; so she did her best to put it out of mind, especially at times like this, but the thoughts were always at fingertip's length. She would do it in her own time, but time was no longer a luxury she had.

That's why she stayed. To see her daughter just a little longer; to make these memories for both of them while she was still physically able. In the shadows, the moonlight covered the young girl like a spotlight, correction - _the ancient, almost-ten year-old girl._ Her mother never doubted; this was what made life worth living. No matter how long she had left, she'd already found the most beautiful sight in the world – Julia Heartilly.

…And there was something incredibly fitting about thinking Julia had been covered by a spotlight; whether it was light from the moon or from the rafters on a stage, everything about it felt right.

Clearing her throat, she placed the Chocobo next to her daughter and then started to get up...but she stopped as an invisible force held her back. She reached for Julia's hair, wrapping a long strand around her fingertips. It wasn't brown and mousey like hers. No, it was simply gorgeous - dark like midnight and thick; it was everything that hers had never been.

_Her mother couldn't help herself as she started to speak. Her words were about making memories; not only for her but maybe, somewhere down the line, Julia would recall this moment, even if it became buried deep within her subconscious._

"When I was your age or maybe a little older, double digits even, your grandmother told me that nobody could predict the future….and in life there were no guarantees. Now I'm passing her words to you to do with as you wish….maybe choose to tell your children one day. I know sweetie, it's sort of a silly thought, but it must be important, because it stuck with me. " With a sad, haunting smile, she looked down at her daughter; it was all she could do to hold onto her sanity, trying to put the doctor's words from her mind.

A soft gasp escaped; she found that she had to wipe her eyes as she re-tucked the blanket that had slipped from its confines. She had known this had been the first of many tears, but it was about strength; her daughter needed to be everything she couldn't. Leaning over, she whispered so softly that it wouldn't have been possible for prying ears to hear; this was between them and only them.

"Julia Elizabeth Heartilly, I'll tell you a secret about your future… First, you must understand that life is like a giant puzzle and everyone you've ever met, or ever will ever meet, is an important piece. Each one is part of the big picture… And if a piece doesn't fit, don't force it because somewhere out there is that final piece that completes the puzzle. And when you step back and look at big picture – it's beautiful. I know this is a lot to take in, but you're a very beautiful and smart girl and someday, you'll understand.

"Now, the _real_ secret? Jules, I already know your future… Let's just say, I skipped to the end of the book and read the last page. I know sweetie, I know…I'm aware how much you don't like it when I do that, but I promise, it was only this once. I had to…I had to…. for both of us…"

She barely could keep herself together as found herself pleading to a nine-year old for forgiveness; her words had become broken, fading into nothing. She didn't fear death. She feared not being here to watch her daughter grow, discovering all the pieces of life along the way. When she felt she couldn't go on – she was given strength. Small fingers tenderly reached out, curling around hers, giving them a small squeeze.

"Go on mommy, I'm here."

Her heart sank, but she had to strong enough to finish. "Julia, you _will_ find someone who loves you – _the real you_ \- the one that loves Chocobos and trains, princesses and castles, playing with race cars and playing with dolls. And when you find him, you'll get married and start your own family…you and your husband will grow old together, travel the world, and have lots of grandkids. I'll be watching over you as you become an amazing mother….I promise, I'll be there, guiding you every step of the way. "

She pulled the girl's hand over to her, kissing the back of it tenderly. "Julia Heartilly, you'll live a long and happy life filled with family and love. I promise, you'll have your happily ever after."

**-o-o-o-o-**

  
**They married and began their life; she never saw her father again.**   
**She cried for him when he died, even if he would never shed a tear for her.**   
**Sometimes the things that are the most dear, are the ones we're too blind to see.**   
**They spent their entire lives without wealth, but princess had never been richer.**   
**They always had each other.**   


_When I was child, if a story had a sad ending, I tried to write the story in reverse. I wanted to see if I could make it happy, but my mother looked at me and asked, "Just because the ending is sad to you, doesn't mean it couldn't be happy for someone else. Sometimes, the end is simply someone else's beginning…Think about their story, their happiness, who are we to rewrite that?"_

**-o-o-o-o-**

  
**Most of all, she knew why it took her so long to find her castle in the sky,**  
 **because it had always been rooted firmly on the earth.**  
 **...But together, they found it.**  
 **And there they lived happily ever after.**

_**The End** _

**Author's Note:**

>  **End Notes:** Okay, promise – now I'm done with the "Castles" universe. Honestly, I'm not sure how this story happened. In chapter three of "Sandcastles" I wanted to offer a history of the book and a glimpse into the story. But, when Sandcastles grew from two to five chapters...it wasn't needed. I didn't want to scrape everything I'd written (the part of about Laguna and Julia in the hotel lobby) so worked it into its own piece. Technically, since I'd written the events 'in reverse,' I wanted to see if I could carry that theme into the entire one-shot.
> 
> One other major hurdle, this marked my first attempt at trying to write either Raine or Julia; in that regards, I was actually horribly nervous venturing into new territory... As some know, I tend to stay on the Squall and Rinoa side of things, so this suddenly became doubly as challenging.
> 
> And finally, thanks to everyone who took the time to read, knowing how far beyond my norm this is. Special thanks to the awesome Bebedora who was able to read over everything in an unbelievable short turn around; it's good to have an objective opinion from someone who primarily focuses on this generation of characters. Of course, thank you to everyone who has supported me on this and my other account for the last twelve plus years. I wouldn't still doing this over a decade later without you guys. hugs


End file.
